Pointed Fingers

Trayrock, Present Time

The werewolf soldiers checked ammunition while their leader counted heads and seemed satisfied with the tally. On the unspoken agreement of a group of werewolves used to moving as a pack, they all began to move along the road.

Heath hung back.

“You’re with us, Gale,” the she-wolf who’d pointed her gun at his head just minutes before gestured for him to fall in.

“My mates are back there,” Heath told her. “I need to make sure that they’re okay.”

“Mates eh?” She arched an eyebrow. “Most of us are content with one.”

“Mhm,” he grimaced and started to turn back to the alleyway.

“Uh-ah, Gale,” she rested her hand on her holster. “Number one, it’s too hot back that way. You go back and you’re taking your life in your hands. Number two, our pack leader is going to want to find out what a Havermouth wolf and his mates are doing in Trayrock during this war.”

“Hmm,” Heath narrowed his eyes at her. “Your pack leader knows precisely why I’m here in Trayrock, soldier. That you